


caesura

by shepherd



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Actors, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 14:43:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shepherd/pseuds/shepherd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>written for the prompt, 'au where Michael controls the light booth at a professional theatre and Gavin is the annoying, sort of pompous (but really great) British actor who really fucking pisses Michael off (and then asks him out for coffee after the show is over).'</p>
            </blockquote>





	caesura

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to make Michael a kind of awkward/emotionally constipated character but I’m sure it made my writing just really clumsy/stilted so apologies in advance.

Standing useless and trembling, his eyes almost comically wide and his skin ashen, Gavin Free was the epitome of terror. His knees quaked and his fingers trembled, and the collar of his shirt suddenly felt far too tight around his throat.

He stared at the blood soaked ghost before him, his lips parted, his mouth moving uselessly as he tried to force out words that refused to leave his throat. He choked, unable to fathom what stood directly before him. He was so confident- he was on top of the world just a few short seconds ago, and now this.

“Which of you have done this?” He eventually managed to croak, his voice weak, wavering. It was difficult to hear, even in the cold, stone like silence in the room. The quiet was a heady and oppressive weight- and Free couldn’t stand it any longer. “Thou canst not say I did it- never shake thy gory locks at me!”

His dinner guests all turned to one another, shooting each other bewildered glances. Their faces, crumpled in confusion, all turned to Free, and they peered at him like visitors to a zoo. The food lies abandoned on the table, steadily growing colder. At the end of the long table, directly opposite Free, Barbara’s painted lips were pressed into a tight line, and the grip on her wine glass was so tight she risked it shattering in her delicate hand. None but Free were aware that there was a spirit among them. “Rise, gentlemen.” One concerned guest said, standing, and there was a terrible shriek as his chair scraped against the floor. Everyone flinches apart from Free, who was transfixed by the ghost only he could see. “His highness is not well.”

At that, the once still Barbara flared to life. Before anyone else could stand, she’s up, cutting sharply across them. “Sit, worthy lords.” She called to them, her voice clear but obviously tense- her smile was frozen plastic and her words were terse and clipped. “My lord is often thus, and hath been from his youth; pray you, keep seat!” Flittering across the room to her deathly still husband, she lightly touched the shoulder of the man who stood, but firmly pressed him back down to his chair. “The fit is momentary; upon a thought he will again be well.”

Michael watched Free silently from his own seat, resting his chin in the arches of his hands. His fingers were tightly intertwined, and his body was tense, completely engrossed in the sight before him. He took in the sight of Free with greedy eyes, devouring his terror and taking deep satisfaction from it. He loved every second that passed, delighting in the sickening fear.

“Michael,” A low voice then muttered in his ear, and the hairs rose on the back of his neck and a shiver danced like electric down his spine. “You’re going to miss your cue if you’re not careful.”

Jerked out of the moment, he jolted in surprise, nearly knocking one of the light switches on the console with his elbow. He nearly pulled a tensed muscle, and he muffled a loud curse. Brought back to reality, he glared at the man beside him, pressing his lips together and gritting his teeth. “Goddamnit, Ray.”

His supposed friend chuckled, his bright eyes shinning with mirth. “Enjoying the show?”

Michael flipped him off in response. “Shut up.” He mumbled, and Ray’s devilish, shit eating grin only widened. They both turn back to Free, looking down at the theatre stage from their balcony, watching him do what he did best- act. Barbara had reached him, her pretend husband, and she was hissing her lines in his ear. Her nails, polished and painted blood red- he dimly recalled the make up artist crowing something about it representing the blood on her hands. Michael thought it was overkill, if you asked him, but he wasn’t going to tell her how to do her job- clawed into his shoulders as she gripped and shook him. “Shame itself!” She growled at him, her expression wild. The dinner guests looked on. “Why do you make such faces?”

“She’s amazing.” One of the other lighting guys that Michael never bothered to learn the name of murmured, directly to his right. He didn’t know much about the guy- except that he fawned over Barbara Dunkleman a ridiculous amount. It was a little disturbing at times. “She’s flawless. And she and Gavin sell their relationship so well.”

Barbara was, indeed, incredible- she had dominated the stage in her character’s introduction, sweeping along the floor and performing her soliloquy perfectly, fluid and graceful while she delivered lines of such steel. They had a perfect view of the stage from their balcony, practically the best seats in the house, and they ate up her words. Michael had seen her perform once before, but not like that. The audience was spellbound too- pliant putty in her hands. He could wax lyrical about her all day to anyone who would listen.  
“She’s the best,” Michael agreed, his voice light. Then it turned crushingly bleak in a split second. “But this Free guy is crap.”

The squeaking of the guy’s chair signified the fact he had rolled around to face him. Michael turned his head towards him, and found that he was being blankly stared at. He pulled a face at him. “What?”

“What?” The guy parroted dumbly, his expression turning into one of extreme confusion. Michael arched an eyebrow. “Look at him, he’s brilliant.”

With a huff, he turned back to the stage. He felt Ray nudge him lightly. “It’s the good bit. I’ll do the work, you watch and have your little argument with your friend.”

“He’s not my damn friend.” He spat back, ready for a fight- but Ray ignored him.

The ghost was gone now, invisible to the audience’s eyes- but Michael knew he was still lurking somewhere in the deep darkness of the stage. Ray had been working while Michael chatted- he felt a brief pang of guilt, but it quickly melted away when he recalled just how annoying he could be- and had rearranged the lights, keeping all the characters and the table in the usual harsh golden light, while the rest of the stage is now in deep darkness. Barbara was laughing nervously, moving to retake her seat, gesturing wildly. “Your noble friends do lack you!” Her smile was strained, stretched far too wide for comfort. The dinner guests have picked up on this, and they tittered nervously.  
Gavin Free hummed quietly, somewhat reassured by the disappearance of the ghost, but still unnerved by it’s presence. He tugged at the collar of his shirt, hard, as if trying to free himself. His hands obviously shake as he licked his chapped lips. “I do forget,” He spoke slowly. “I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing to those that know me.” He tried to smile reassuringly. He shouldn’t have bothered- it appeared to be more of a grimace. But, of course, that was as the character Lord Macbeth- exactly what Free the actor was going for. “Come, love and health to all, then I’ll sit down.” He walked unsteadily back to his seat, occasionally touching another actor’s shoulder in a friendly fashion. “Please, go on, give me some wine-”

Ray, who had been waiting for his cue, made some quick movements, his sure and steady hands moving fluidly across the console. The several harsh and bright lights changed abruptly, to only a few dank, cold blue lights, focusing mainly on Free and the area around him while Barbara and the guests were difficult to see in the darkness. It had a strong effect- they seemed ethereal, wraithlike, not really there, all figments of Lord Macbeth’s twisted imagination. The lights flared on the stage, stretching out- and the ghost was suddenly right there, next to Free, staring at him with dark, judgemental eyes that stood out against his gaunt face and his skin, the colour of curdled milk. The front of his crisp, white dress shirt was sodden with stage blood. It looked horrifically real.

And Free reacted perfectly, as always. As soon as the lights fell, he took the cue and jerked his head around to see the blood stained apparition. He jumped and he shuddered, like an electrical current had run through his body. “Avaunt!” He nearly shrieked, his voice failing him and breaking halfway through that one word. His gaze was wild and terrified. “And quit my sight! Let the earth hide thee!” He staggered away from the ghost, almost falling to the ground. It’s expression never flickers, it’s intense gaze never lifting. “Thy bones are marrow less, thy blood is cold; thou hast no speculation in those eyes which thou dost glare with!”

The audience was painfully silent, and Free’s heavy pants were easy to hear. All attention was now locked on him and his colleague. Michael was focused on him alone, watching his youthful face transform into something horrifying. Once, he was admittedly handsome- but his nostrils flared, his face was flushed red as he screams, and Michael thought he saw flecks of spit from his mouth. His artistic mind thought that perhaps it could be seen as Macbeth’s fall from flawless grace, as he becomes an imperfect, screaming mess, but he felt disgustingly pretentious afterwards and decides to call bullshit.

He vaguely heard Barbara speak her own lines, her own voice high and wavering. He was sure her acting was flawless, but he watched Free’s chest heave. “What man dare, I dare,” He eventually said, and his voice was quieter but by no means calmer. His voice was a guttural growl, a low rumble in his chest. “Approach thou, like the rugged Russian bear…”  
Michael had heard enough. He tore his gaze away and lets his quivering voice fade, removing himself from the admittedly intense moment. He rolled his chair back a little, and lifted his arms up, crossing them behind his head. He lets what he had seen sink in, knowing the man to his right was watching him closely for the slightest reaction- then he sighs, and he shrugs helplessly. “I’ve seen better.” He said dismissively.

The other guy’s jaw appeared to hit the floor. “You’ve seen better?!” He burst. “Who the hell’s done better than Gavin goddamn Free?”

“That’s a really stupid name.” Ray commented in passing, still watching the show. Michael ignored him, and sneered at the Free fan.

“I’m just saying,” He said, carefully ignoring the topic of other actors. He had never even read the play before he was forced to in order to get the job. And when he did, he thought it was terrible. “He’s not an acting god, man. He’s a pretentious British douche bag.”

“He’s fantastic.” The guy muttered, turning away, and Michael rolled his eyes.

“Why are you such a Free fan boy, anyway?” He asked. “You’re very defensive.”

“I’m not a Free fan boy!” He erupted, even more defensive, and far to quickly to be genuine. He flushed red with a mix of embarrassment and rage when Michael and Ray both laughed in his face. “Seriously, it’s not me. My nana loves him.”

“Your nana. Jesus.” He shook his head, almost shaking with laughter. “That makes it worse. He’s just the type of guy to be adored by old biddies.” Admittedly, he had the face for it. He was tall, dark haired and handsome, and his costume only served to emphasize his girlish waistline. Michael supposed he did find him attractive- but he was far too pretentious for his personal taste.

“So he’s basically a Michael Buble or Josh Groban of the acting world?” Ray mused, a frown on his face as he listened to them. He concentrated on his work, preparing himself for another dramatic shift when the ghost abruptly disappears for good. “Like, we’re sure he’s a nice guy really but until that’s proved we’re going to think he’s an asshole?”  
“Basically, yeah.” Michael scoffed at the thought, and immediately the guy started to argue back.

“He’s more than that,” He begun, and an incredibly passionate and heartfelt speech started to flow from his mouth. Or it might have been a slurred string of insults. Michael wasn’t exactly listening, so he couldn’t be sure. He let the man talk for a torturously long minute, and he’s not sure whether his patience reached it’s end even more quickly then usual or if he took pity on him.

“Look,” He eventually spoke up, spreading out his hands and showing his palms in a submissive and surprisingly agreeable gesture. “I think that anyone who does Shakespeare so hardcore is a snobbish, poncy dick, alright? It’s just my personal opinion. Kiss his posters every night before bed if you like, this is just what I think.”

Ray snickered and Michael allowed himself one tiny giggle, not wanting to wake the dragon beside him and further the argument. He’s relieved when the guy backed down, muttering something low under his breath. “Fine.” He snapped. “Whatever.”

The discussion thankfully ended permanently, and although he often felt a burning glare singing the hairs on his head, nothing further is added. A slightly uncomfortable and awkward silence fell upon them, but they had work to do and the show must go on- and go on it did.

x-x-x-x-x-

The crowd was wild, and ravenous, and it was the longest curtain call Michael has ever been a part of.

He had one hell of a headache by the end of the show, and if he was honest, he just wanted to finish the show, wrap up, and get the hell on home to catch up on much needed sleep before the next night’s show. But the audience was full of beautiful people, wanting to show their appreciation for all their hard work.

Bastards.

His colleagues bustled around him, chattering and laughing, cheering with the occasional hug and high-five. It was always the same whenever a show ended. People were always so damn happy to be free they didn’t care who they showed affection to. Ray was one of those people, a surprising social butterfly while Michael lay collapsed over the console, groaning faintly as the headache pulsed and pulled in his sore temples.

“I fucking hate this job.” He grumbled, and he definitely doesn’t mean it.

The curtain call went on for an eternity, or at least what seemed like one. The calling, cheering and whistling were like nails raking down a blackboard to Michael. Ray eventually retook his seat next to him, slumping a little, taking in the sight below them. He was blessedly silent for a while, and Michael loves him for it.

“Extending on that ‘Free’s fans are old women’ thing,” Ray eventually spoke into his ear as the actors bow deeply, happy and satisfied smiles on their tired and flushed faces. “Look at the front few rows.”

He did. The audience were on their feet for the performers, and Michael could clearly see a vast majority of the people in the first few rows were all female. Some were in their teens, and he would happily bet any amount of money you wanted that they were in some kind of fan club, and that they were squealing his name adoringly. Why else would they attend an incredibly gory and otherwise ridiculously dark and dry play about politics and fate? Unless they were kind of weird, he supposed. The other women were much older than Free, but they were equally as moon eyed. There were some men there too- but they were either clearly fans of Shakespeare’s work, who all admittedly looked impressed, or bored looking husbands who had clearly been dragged along. Michael made a noise of irritation and pretended to puke, rolling his eyes. Ray snorted ungracefully with laughter, while the Free fan too his right huffed moodily.

“I wish this damn curtain call would end.” Ray eventually moaned, exasperated, rolling his chair back and stretching his long, jean clad legs. Michael grunted his agreement, and even the Free fan nods. Michael’s eyes felt heavy, and he wanted to curl up in the booth and fall asleep. He wondered if Ray would be kind enough to wake him up before he was accidentally locked in. Probably not. Dick.

Then, a bold light appeared, shinning directly through the booth’s glass into their faces. Michael’s eyes burnt, and he was temporarily blinded by the light. He heard Ray squawk ‘what the fuck’ and everyone in the booth hissed in surprise and pain, squinting under the unanticipated assault. The applause seemed to amplify, if that were possible, and the cheering renewed itself. After a few long moments, the light disappeared, dropping away. Everyone flailed for a moment, groaning, and Michael eventually cracked open his no longer heavy lidded eyes, and he was furious.

“What the fuck.” He snarled, his headache now tripled. His brain felt like it was aflame. “What asshole thought pointing the lights at us was a good idea?”

He peered down at the stage as soon as he was able, and he found the culprits. The actors, all together, laughing and smiling. Free and Barbara led them, with arms around each other, and they were gesturing towards the sound booth now. Stage crew members were manning the lights at the corner of the stage, and were manually pointing them up. The audience turned, craning their necks up to see them and recognise them for the work they did during the performance. They were cheered just as the lighting crew was, and equally as blinded. While it warmed Michael’s heart to be recognized for his work, it made his blood boil.

“That was nice of them.” Ray beamed, looking exhausted but satisfied. He inadvertently threw fuel onto the already blazing flames.

“Assholes nearly blinded us.” Michael ground out, forcing the words through clenched teeth. He glared holes into Free’s forehead, hating his smug little grin as the curtain call finally, thankfully ended. “I hate him.”

“You haven’t even spoken to the guy.” Ray pointed out, the devil’s advocate, and Michael repressed the powerful urge to thump him.

That night when he finally got home, Michael ordered himself a pizza for a job well done, and managed to sleep solidly for several hours. He woke up in a decent mood for once the next morning, ready to face the day with minimal complaints and less of a scowl. However, a lot can happen in a day- and by the time the next performance starts at 7’oclock sharp, he was fuming, armed, and ready to blow.

And that was the day he met Gavin Free face to face, and the day Ray has a date.

x-x-x-x-x

Ray seemed to emit a glow of happiness and excitement as he watched Michael work tirelessly, matching the lighting cues to the music and sound effects. He was making lightning on the stage, and after a brief purposeful delay thunder rolled along, heavy and ominous. Despite the dank and dark setting, Ray was mooning just like the front row girls from the night before.

“I’m really looking forward to it,” He gushed relentlessly, and Michael struggled to tune it out. Ray was like a brother to him, truly, and he would do anything for him- but he simply didn’t care about his date. “He’d been acting really weird recently when I saw him about, and we’d had a few conversations- even though they were kinda awkward,” He laughed, and his eyes lost a little of their sparkle. He was clearly lost in the memory. “Then he just came up to me when I was checking out the stage earlier and asked.”

Michael frowned, only half listening now. He watched as the three witches performed their lines, shrouded in darkness, before being suddenly illuminated by the faux lightning. Griffon had done a great job with the props, he noted, just as he knew she would. One actress held a wooden chalice in her hands, and while it was hard to see from this distance, it seemed to have the faces of long forgotten demons carved onto the sides, and their eyes were set with stones that gleamed under the stage lights. The woman had talent. “Isn’t he, like… really old?”

Ray bristled, his light expression darkening. “Joel isn’t old.” He retorted. “He’s in his early forties.”

Michael pulled a face at him. “That’s kind of old.”

“Dude, it‘s only…” He paused, and Michael could practically hear the gears grinding in his head as he did the mental math. The older man knew when he reached his answer- he blanched. “Eighteen years between us.” He spoke hesitantly. Michael gave him a look that screamed ‘well, there you go’ and Ray reached over to whack him lightly on the arm. “He’s not exactly prehistoric.” He argued.

“His hair’s going a bit grey.”

“Shut up, Michael.” Ray sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. He was like a child being denied a sweet or a toy, sulking in a moody silence. “Just because you’re single and boring.”

He threw back his head and barked out a rowdy laugh- bullshit, he thinks- but he clammed up, refocusing on his work. The scene with the witches quickly ended, and they were replaced with the king and his soldiers. Michael rapidly lost interest as they spoke- he barely understood a word they said, with all the ‘thou dist’ and ‘ne’er’s- and he had lost himself in the fairly repetitive work of changing the lighting when Ray reached behind him and poked the Free fan on the shoulder.

“Look, it’s your nan’s favourite actor.” He grinned, and the fan smacked him heavily in return. Free indeed emerged from offstage, followed closely by Banquo. He was cocksure, his steps steady and loud. Banquo followed close behind, much warier. Free was still the pompous asshole Michael remembered, all tall and lanky and stupidly attractive while he dominated the stage.

His voice was low as he recited his lines, but sure, and a frown crinkled his youthful face. His alert eyes swept across the audience, seeing, but taking in nothing.  
“So foul and fair a day I have not seen.” He murmured, and the audience, as always, was enraptured. There were girls in the front row again, Michael noted, and they stare at him, all united in their love for that stupid British asshole.

“I don’t think there’s going to be any women in the world left for us because of him.” The fan growls, staring hard at Free. Michael and Ray both grumbled their agreement.  
“How far isn’t call’d to Forres?” Banquo questioned Free, sounding hesitant. You could have said ‘how much longer’, Michael thought, cursing Shakespeare. He considered whispering this to Ray, but despite his shitty mood he didn’t want to cause another argument, and the scene quickly moved on once the two spotted the witches. Laughter rippled through the crowd at a witty line said by Banquo, and the catalyst of the play occurred- the prophecy. The transformation from war hero to massive dick began to occur for Macbeth. ‘At least Free doesn’t need to pretend to be a dick.’

Not much happened throughout the rest of the play, and Ray was beautifully silent about Joel throughout most of the performance. When he appeared onstage after the murder of the king, Ray didn’t make a sound, but he seemed to thrum with anticipation. Michael shot him a dangerous look, but he couldn’t help but smile at his expression. Nor could he find it in himself to berate or tease him- it was, admittedly, quite sweet.

At the end of the show, Free got his stupidly pretty head chopped off by Joel, and despite the fact he had seen it before Michael laughed until he cried.

The audience was rabid, again, and the curtain call went on forever, again. They stood for the actors and cheered and whistled. This time, Barbara and Joel led, with her hand resting demurely on his shoulder, while Free flagged in the background with the others. Joel was covered with blood, and still holding the blade that executed Free. Maybe Joel isn’t so bad, he wondered, only half seriously.

The group gestured to the crew members who were fussing around the stage, then to the sound booth, and then to the lighting booth. Prepared this time, Michael ducked a split second before the light shone on them again. This time, he saw Ray give the audience a wide grin and a thumbs up, and the fan ducked his head, smiling shyly. That got a few laughs and even some ‘awws’ from the crowd below. The light disappeared, and the actors gave another deep bow before they departed together for the last time. The curtain closed behind them, and Ray dimmed the stage lights for the final time of the night.

They all stood and stretched their legs and arms, shaking them all awake. Ray retook his seat once done and powered down the lights, while Michael and the Free fan worked together to clean up before the theatre was locked up. All was peaceful, all was calm, and Michael daydreamed about finally going home and catching up with Game of Thrones.  
Then the sound of the door behind them creaking open found them, and Ray jolted in his seat, spinning around. Joel Heyman stood there in the doorway, grinning wildly, that happy flush still on his cheeks. Clearly on some kind of adrenaline high, he almost bounced into the room with more energy than a 40-something year old should possess. “Ray!” He greeted. He had changed out of his costume, and the blood that had been flecked on his cheeks had been washed off- to Michael’s disappointment.

Ray stood to meet him, as if he were going to kiss him. He obviously didn’t- he simply leant against the booth, smiling up at the much taller man. “Joel,” He recognised. “Are you ready to go? I’m almost done. Just a second longer.”

Michael was about to turn away, ready to pack up his stuff and promptly vamoose- but he heard someone suck in a breath, and his attention was recaptured. He swivelled his chair around, and saw that behind Joel trailed Gavin Free, just as flushed as Joel but, to Michael’s joy, much less eager. He had a stupid, lopsided smile that may have been charming in someone else’s eyes- but it aggravated Michael more than anything else in the world. He had his hands shoved into a ridiculous pair of skinny jeans, and his gaudy shirt hurt Michael’s eyes.

“Yeah, I’m ready. Take your time.” Joel nodded down at him, the mad grin still there. Free stepped closer, almost brushing up against Joel’s elbow like a kitten, and the older actor nudged him. “I brought a stray along.”

“I wanted to see who Joel wouldn’t stop talking about.” Free winked at Ray, the bastard winked at him, and Ray the traitor had the gall to laugh. “I think I can see why he likes you so much.”

Joel was the epitome of mortification, and he looked like he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. Michael wondered whether the flush was still from exhilaration or now humiliation. Joel turned and glowered down at Free ominously, his mouth set in a firm line. “Gavin.” He stressed. “Shut up.”

Free waved him away, never tearing his gaze from Ray. “He’s just shy.” He excused him, his smile turning into a stupid grin with his weird teeth on show- and then his eyes dropped to see his fan, who was staring at him with eyes probably the size of Free’s ego. “Hello.” He greeted him, grinning roguishly.

“I- um.” He stuttered in response, and he jumped up from his seat to grab Free’s hand. He almost knocked into Ray. “Hi! It’s a pleasure- an honour- to meet you.” He shook his hand energetically, and Free’s arm was almost removed from his shoulder with the force of it. But the actor just laughed it off, and Michael noted that his laugh is stupid too.  
“A fan?” Free assumed, tilting his head to the side like an inquisitive puppy hearing an odd noise. The man who was still shaking his hand nods in affirmation so fast Michael was surprised his head didn’t fly off through the ceiling.

“Yeah.” He exclaimed, either giving up on or forgetting about the charade about his grandmother. “You were amazing in Death of a Salesman.”

Gavin’s flush increased. “Thank you.” He said shyly, and he sounded painfully genuine in that stupid British accent. Stupid, stupid, stupid. “I never seem to act in happy plays, do I?”

“You do the miserable stuff so well, though.” Ray assured him as he moved away, beginning to pack up his personal effects. The lights had been shut down and the sound team had already crept home by that point. “I can’t see you happy and smiling on stage.”

He bowed his head, as if hiding a flush of embarrassment or pleasure. “Thank you.” Free repeated. “I’m exhausted, though.” He sighed, and ran a hand through his dark hair. He huffed out another heavy sigh, directly after the first, and he deflated like a balloon. “It’s that damn banquet scene that gets me practically lethargic. It‘s my favourite scene, though.”

“My favourite part is the bit where I kill you.” Joel said in a bright, chipper voice.

“That’s my favourite too.” Michael agreed before he could stop himself, and everyone turned to stare at him. He refused to flush red under the intensity of four pairs of eyes. “What?”

Gavin laughed at him, his eyes crinkling. “I totally get why. I know tonnes of people who’d like to see me dead.”

‘Not as much as I do.’ He felt like saying, but he knew he’d only just hurt his feelings and look any more like a rude dick in front of Joel. Ray would beat the shit out of him the next time they were alone, and Michael would prefer to avoid the hassle. Instead, he forced a brittle laugh, and everyone but Joel and Free himself look convinced. Joel’s dark eyebrows narrowed- but Gavin hummed, still grinning, and stared at him. It was a little disconcerting, and perturbation made Michael shift in his seat. There was a beat of silence and Michael wondered if it was going to be horrendously awkward forever- but Joel came to their rescue.

“I’m wondering when we’ll get the first reviews.” He wondered aloud, hunching his broad shoulders. “The director doesn’t think we have anything to really worry about, but we’re all on edge either way.”

“Yeah, hopefully they’ll go easy on us.” Ray took off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes and his nose. “They were pretty brutal on our last show.” He recalled.

“Don’t remind me.” Michael muttered. He could feel yet another migraine coming on. “To be honest, all I want to do is get home, watch TV and sleep.”

“Because you’re a loser and you haven’t got a date.” Ray taunted him, practically sashaying towards the door. Michael searched for something to throw, but found nothing immediately within reach. Joel snickered and followed Ray, reaching down for his hand. Michael pretended to vomit, and even the Free fan laughed.

“I fancy a coffee too.” Free mused, watching the two pause at the door. For a dreadful moment, Michael had the terrible feeling that the idiot was going to invite himself along to Joel and Ray’s date- but it was actually much worse. Free suddenly lit up like a Christmas tree, his mopey expression clearing up like the sky after a storm- and his vibrant green eyes swivelled to Michael himself. “Why don’t us two lads go get a bev, then?”

Michael almost trips and crashes to the floor, barley managing to catch himself. To his eternal shame, Gavin didn’t miss it- and the man giggled, he actually giggled like a teenage girl. “You alright, mate?”

“I’m not your mate.” Michael reminded him, his expression aghast. He stood up straighter, trying to ignore the way his heart beat significantly faster. He felt like a fool, and he had no idea just why he was reacting in this bizarre but he couldn’t stop himself. “You don’t even know my name.”

Free arched a dark eyebrow, in a mocking fashion. Michael couldn’t even find it in himself to get angry- he was simply stunned. “So, what’s your name then?”

“None of your business, asshole!”

The actor stared at him for several long disconcerting moments, his eyes unreadable- then he leant over to Ray and Joel, who watched them with identical twin smirks on their faces. “What’s his name?”

“Michael.” They replied in perfect sync, not missing a beat. Michael managed to scrape up some rage, and gifted them with a glare that promised a world of pain the next time they meet, but his so called friend and friend’s lover don’t even flinch.

“Want to go get a coffee, Michael?” Gavin asked again, appearing completely unruffled by Michael’s aggressive behaviour. His smile was refreshed, and Michael’s heart damn well stuttered.

“No!” He almost yelped, and the filter between his mind and mouth failed him. “You’re an asshole.”

Gavin Free apparently had the patience of a saint and the thickest skin in the world. Instead of recoiling and looking hurt, like any other sane human being would, he simply blinked and quirked his head to one side. His bright eyes crinkled in confusion rather than offence. “Am I?”

Yeah!” Already having begun digging his grave, Michael wondered ‘why not dig it some more and jump into it?’. “Anyone who does Shakespeare as well as you do is a pompous, pretentious, snobby, inflated, flamboyant hipster!” He practically hissed, his face a little red.

Gavin’s mouth swung open, and Michael felt a surge of victory that overcomes the fain guilt- until Gavin’s eyes sparkled with delight. “You think I do it well?” He practically gushed. “Thank you!”

Michael spluttered, and for a while he wondered if this was reality. He felt like he was in a kind of pantomime, or that he was still asleep and he was in fact experiencing the world’s longest and most realistic dream. “Do you have selective hearing or something?”

“You two should go have coffee together.” Ray struck the stereotypical thinking pose, with his hand on his chin, stroking his wispy beard. “I think it’ll get Michael to know you better as a person. And get rid of some of that sexual tension.”

Michael can feel the flush that rose and burned on his cheeks, and he has to grind his teeth to keep from screaming. He wanted nothing more than to wrap his hands around Ray’s slender, oh-so-choke able throat and wring his neck. But he glances at Joel- tall, built, broad Joel- and decides he doesn’t want to take that chance.

“Fuck you guys.” He growled instead, furiously pink, and he grabbed for his bag, throwing the shoulder strap over his head. “I’m going home.” He flipped Ray off one last time before storming to the door- shoving past Free- and leaving them all behind. Laughter followed him down the hallway, and Michael struggled to not think about that fucking smile as he struggled to sleep later that night.

x-x-x-x-x

The first thing Michael asked Ray when he came in to work the next night was definitely not “So how was your date with Joel?” It was more along the lines of “Why the fuck are you such a asshole?”

But Ray, being the asshole that he is, told him all about the date anyway.

The night’s performance wasn’t even that eventful- Michael made a point of completely ignoring Gavin- no, Free- on the stage, Free’s number one fan didn’t speak to Michael all night, the audience was crazy at the end as expected and neither Joel or Free came up to see them afterwards. So he couldn’t get away from Ray’s stories of just how perfect his first date with Joel fucking Heyman was.

“It was awesome.” Ray practically sighed, as if in a dream, and he stared at Joel intently every single second he was on stage. It was a curious mix of creepy and endearing. “We just went out for coffee, and that was it, but it was so cool.”

“That must have been some fucking good coffee to make you like this.” Michael had commented, looking him up and down. Ray was never the most official of people, usually coming to work in jeans and some movie or video game related shirt, but he came in looking even more casual on that day. He wore an unfamiliar hoodie that not only smelled very different, it was multiple sizes too big for him and it dwarfed the poor guy. He looked perfectly happy, though, occasionally tugging down the too long sleeves and readjusting the collar around his neck- and Michael frowned, wondering exactly what he was hiding.

He had a pretty good feeling that he doesn’t want to know.

“It wasn’t the coffee.” Ray smiled, leaning back in his chair and playfully wagging his eyebrows.

He definitely didn’t want to know.

“So why didn’t you go have coffee with Gavin last night?” Ray asked later, when the curtain fell and the interval began, and he laughed when Michael’s response was to groan agitatedly.

“Don’t even fucking talk to me.” He snapped, and as soon as Ray opened his mouth to speak Michael covered up his ears with both hands and begins humming the Copacabana. “Seriously. Don’t.”

Ray apparently was feeling merciful that day, so he didn’t. They sat in a relaxed, comfortable silence for the grand total of seven seconds, Michael finally having the chance to appreciate the quiet- and then the quiet was shattered by someone almost slamming into the door. It exploded violently open, and Geoff Ramsey burst into the room.

“Have you seen these fucking reviews?” His voice was several pitches higher than usual, and his eyes were wide. He was clutching multiple newspapers in his hands, holding on to them for dear life. Everyone in the booth turned to stare.

“Are they bad?” Michael asked apprehensively. He felt Ray beside him, tense and uptight. His nervous habit of shaking his leg began to emerge without his notice.

“Are they bad?” Geoff repeated, staring at him like a man who had witnessed the rapidly approaching end of the world. He laughed, his voice breathy. “No, they’re fucking great!” He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it all up. “I just- fuck, man.”

Without asking permission, knowing he wouldn’t get a detailed answer, Michael got up and grabbed for one. Geoff barely even notices he had taken it, completely zonked out. Michael searched through the paper until he found the review, and everyone minus Geoff hovered over his shoulder as he read.

'Director Geoff Ramsey has been well known in the industry for several years, famous for his productions of Blood Brothers and Metamorphosis, and he is consistently brilliant. This has not changed as he takes on Shakespeare’s famous tragedy, Macbeth.' He read, a small frown on his face.

Already bored, Michael skim read the rest. As he anticipated, the reviewer lavished Gavin and Barbara with adoration, deeming them ‘expertly matched’ and ‘flawlessly fluent’. Joel Heyman was called ‘impeccable’ and some guy named Ryan Haywood was hailed as ‘perfect and lucid as King Duncan, even though he is only present for a short time‘. He even praised Griffon for her stage design and her props, even though there was no mention of the sound or the lighting. Typical.

All in all, it was a good review- minus a few complaints. “See? A little pretentious and overly serious,” Michael pointed out to the Free fan- he really should learn this guys actual name, he thought to himself, but vowed to find it out later. He never did- “I told you so.” The play was criticized for it’s length and named ‘rigid’- unwilling to break free of tradition and do something unique and new. Geoff easily shrugged that off, however, and looked like he was ready to happily drown himself in the nearest pub. He dropped all the newspapers on the side and stole Ray’s seat, clutching his head in both hands. Ray pat his back gently, and rubbed soothing circles in his back.

“It’s okay.” He murmured, a touch patronizingly. Geoff didn’t react. “Just let it all sink in.”

“Have the actors been shown?”

Geoff nodded slowly. “Yeah, Ryan actually brought them in before the show started. I didn’t think the reviews would be done so quickly.” He stared down out the glass window, down at the audience. Many seats were empty, most wisely electing to take bathroom breaks, but a few were still sitting, gossiping happily. “I fucking love my job.”

“Let me guess, you gonna go out and get drunk tonight?” Michael thumbed through another paper, noting that in each one the focus mainly rested on the cast. There was nary a mention of the sound or lighting effects. Disappointment weighed heavily in his gut, but he supposed he saw it coming. It was always that way.

“Duh.” Geoff rolled his eyes. “Griffon’s probably still shrieking about it and shoving the copy she stole in everyone’s faces.” He rubbed agitatedly at his own face, his scruff of a beard scratching loudly, and he looked exhausted- but when did he not? “Jesus, that’s a weight off my shoulders.”

“Party at the Ramsey’s.” Ray crows, leaning against the booth. “But you better run, man, the interval’s gonna end soon. And I want my goddamn seat back.”

“Right.” Geoff rolled the chair back and stretched quickly, before jumping up and out, towards the door. “The two of you. Drinking. Tonight. The usual place.”

“You still haven’t been bared from there?” Michael’s tone drips with thinly veiled disbelief. “Jesus Christ, Geoff, they must really like you.”

He shrugged helplessly. “Anyway. I want the both of you there.” He shoved a finger at them warningly. “No buts.” He commanded, before winking, and disappearing out of the room.

x-x-x-x-x

The show was finally done, and so was Michael’s patience.

“Are you coming?” Ray asked, and Michael shook his head as he pulled the collar of his coat tighter. It was going to be freezing outside, he knew. It always was at this time of the night. They took the stairs down two at a time, eager to finally get out of their cramped little box.

“I just want to get home. I don’t care if Geoff gets mad.” He told him, already fantasizing of sinking into his bed and sliding into the land of dreams, and Ray clucked his tongue.  
“You always just want to get home.” He whined, and Michael desperately tried to ignore the way he sounded just like Free. “You’re boring, Michael.”

“I’m fucking exhausted, more like.” He complained. “How are you not? I bet Joel’s been keeping you up all night.”

Ray snorted with laughter, and he was still laughing all the way down, all the way to the exit. Michael chuckled with him, laughing more at his reaction than the actual joke. People gave them odd looks as they passed, but they went ignored. They giggled their way out of the door- and the laughter automatically ceased.

They should have seen it coming. Michael could hear the chatter of a crowd, and the high pitched giggles of girls over it. He saw the flashing of cameras through the doors, but he was an idiot, and he didn’t think.

He stepped outside, and was immediately infuriated to find the sky dismal and overcast, and rain steadily falling from the sky. He hadn’t brought an umbrella- Texas weather was unpredictable at best, but he naively thought he wouldn’t need one. He cursed his own idiocy.

And his steadily worsening night was made infinitely worse by the sight of Gavin fucking Free.

He had that smile, that infuriating and flawed yet flawless smile plastered on his face, and his eyes were dancing with excitement. He was rocking backwards and forwards on the balls of his feet, and his hands were rubbing together like he was some kind of evil genius. His hair was a flyaway mess, his shirt was missing buttons from the top and the bottom, and his cheeks were a bright pink. He was the picture of the delirious child who has just been told he’s going to Disneyland. He was adorable.

And he was surrounded by fans.

Michael tried to count exactly how many cameras were pointing on the actor, but the flashes blind him and he quickly lost count. Everyone stared at him and Joel, who stood together and chatted away to the audience members. Joel had girls all around him, all crooning and cooing. Michael could see a flash of gold hair on the other side of the theatre, and he assumed that it was Barbara doing her own signing.

A stammering, terrified looking young girl approached Gavin and shoved something that looked like a pen and paper into his hands. She seemed to speak gibberish, and she avoided looking directly at him. Michael nor Ray could understand a word she was saying- but Free smiled, and laughed that laugh, and signed the paper with a practised flourish. He said a few short words, and bent down to press a kiss on her cheek- and Michael is surprised the girl didn’t go in shock and collapse. She sucked in a breath and only stuttered more, and eventually had to be carted away by two giggling friends. Free watched her go, that ditzy grin still there.

Michael was unpleasantly surprised by the churning feeling of undeniable jealousy in his gut, and he glowered at the women in the group. They didn’t notice, only having eyes for the actors. He shot a look at Ray, who was doing the exact same thing. Both men clearly itched to storm over and mark their property- but only one man actually had the right to do so.

“I’m going to murder someone.” Ray said cheerfully, and Michael laughed. He also took a step away from him. Just in case.

“Go after him.” Michael nodded towards them. “Have a good night, yeah?”

Ray pivoted where he stood and looked at him with large, mournful eyes. “Please come with?” He pouted, speaking in a childlike voice- and it was so like Gavin it physically hurt.  
What the fuck is wrong with me?

“Nah, I better go. Maybe next time.” He forced a smile, and Ray fell for it. “I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, though.” Ray nodded in farewell, and turned to merge into the crowd. Michael watched as he appeared at Joel’s side, and he appreciated the grin that bloomed onto the actor’s face. At least someone’s happy, he thinks, and he turns and begins his long walk home.

The rain drizzled on him, and his mood gradually began to sour. Puddles begin to form on the ground and in the gutter, and all in all, it was dreadful weather- but Michael looked forward to the scent of fresh air in the morning after the downpour, and enjoys the prospect of the rest of the night spent without Gavin Free.  
And he barely makes it down the street with that happy feeling.

“Michael.” A familiar and grating British accent calls after him, and Michael’s skin crawled. He closed his eyes and counted to ten, silently, before turning back.

Gavin had skipped after him, and stands waiting with a surprising amount of patience. He beamed when Michael finally faced him. “Where are you going?”

Michael squinted his eyes at him suspiciously. “Home?” It was less of a statement, more of a question. Gavin had that way of making Michael feel desperately unsure of himself. He hated it.

“Aren’t you coming to the pub- ah, sorry, the bar with us?” He came close, unnervingly so. He could feel Free’s penetrating body heat in the chill of the night, and he smelt like cinnamon. The strong scent overwhelmed and infested him. “We’re celebrating the good reviews. Geoff’s buying the first round!”

Michael took a quick step back, wary of getting to close. “Nah, I’m just going straight home.” He gestured up to the ominous, cloud filled sky. Rain plopped directly on his nose as if to prove a point. “I want to be back before this gets any worse.”

“But it’s a celebration!” Gavin whined, like a petulant child. “And the rain will probably have stopped once we’re done.”

“Once we’re done?” He raised a brow. “You’ve never gone drinking with Geoff, have you?” He almost chuckled at the apprehension and faint regret that dawned gradually in Free’s eyes, but he shook his head. “Nah, us lighting guys weren’t mentioned in the review. We shouldn’t really be celebrating. I don‘t even know why Ray’s going, to be honest.”

Gavin’s lips abruptly turned downwards, and his expression became mournful. The regret amplified. The slow drizzle of rain made his hair stick down, and he looked like a deflated balloon, a kicked puppy, thrown out to sit in the poor weather. “I know.” He pouted. “All they bloody talk about is the acting and the stage design. No one else ever gets recognised for all their work.” He lowered his gaze to the floor, seemingly frowning down at Michael’s shoes. “Let me buy you a drink? To say sorry, I suppose?”

In that moment, Michael despised him. He hated his pompous accent, his daft behaviour, the way he was a fucking moron off stage but fantastic on it. He wanted to grab his shoulders and shake the stupid out of him, plant his fist into that oversized nose and maybe kick him in the ribs.

Quite worryingly, and in stark contrast, he wanted to kiss him, too.

In that exact same moment, he thought Free- no, Gavin- was a great guy who didn’t deserve to be shaken, or punched, or kicked- maybe kissed- and not treated that way Michael had been treating him since they met.

Michael stood there helplessly, feeling the light drizzle gradually turn into something heavier. Gavin looked up at him imploringly, his eyes painfully emotive. He looked so young out of the harsh stage light, and for the first time, Michael saw the deep, dark circles around his eyes. He looked so vulnerable. And for some strange reason, so beautiful. Guilt and indecision churned in his stomach, and the night’s chill began to set in his bones. He needed to make a decision, and soon.

“I…” He began, and he hated the way Gavin’s expression was tinged with hope. “I…” Michael swallowed heavily, and prayed he wouldn’t regret this decision. “Okay. Fine.”  
As soon as the word fell from his lips, Gavin changed in that split second. He sprung up, going from broken and delicate to a sly devil, and Michael realised with dawning comprehension that he had just been tricked.

“Tippy top!” He laughed, and he reached forward and dared to grab Michael’s hand. He couldn’t pull away fast enough, and Gavin’s warm and surprisingly soft hand wrapped around his. He hauled him back down the street to the theatre doors, playfully stomping in the puddles on the way. He pulled him under the protection of the roof, back to Joel and Ray. “Michael’s coming, lads!”

Bastard, Michael thought again, but this time, it was respectfully.

x-x-x-x-x

The respect didn’t stay for very long.

Gavin actually lazed on him, like a sloth, a dead weight on his shoulder. He leant on him like he was a goddamned pillow, and even though Michael’s shoulder was firmly planted in his chest, he didn’t seem to care. The scent of cinnamon was drowned under the stench of booze. He could see Ray pathetically attempting to stifle laughs behind either his hand or his coke, whatever was closest, and Joel didn’t even have the common courtesy to attempt to hide his mirth. Geoff was drunk, as was Griffon, and they were too interested in each other to take in anything else.

Michael couldn’t believe this was happening. Gavin got annihilated in what seemed to be seconds of having his first drink, the alcohol thickening his irritating accent and creating a slur in his words. He barely made any sense as it was, and Michael wondered just how the hell he could even speak. Gavin’s face was flushed a light pink and his eyes were a little unfocused, but he had that goofy smile plastered on his lips- and all those things made him look, bizarrely, kind of sweet. He was a complete lightweight- Michael quickly began to take check of what he was drinking, and Gavin only had a few very weak beers. He wondered if low tolerance was a British thing.

Michael himself wasn’t even drunk, to his chagrin. He had the aim of getting drunk, maybe doing something stupid while he was at it, but he thought there was enough stupid in the room without him adding to it. Gavin kept calling for more and more alcohol, utterly relentless, shoving drinks in Michael’s hand and nearly spilling it all over the both of them every time.

“I’m staying sober so I can get you home.” Michael had to repeatedly say, pushing the drinks away. They were usually quickly snapped up by Geoff or Joel. “Because I’m a fucking amazing guy.”

“Yeah!” Gavin beamed up at him, unsteadily wavering in his seat. “You’re a top lad, Michael.” He slurred, and he patted Michael’s shoulder with more force than was strictly necessary. In turn, Michael stared down at him, hard.

“You do realise you have another performance tomorrow night, don’t you?” He reminded him, but the man simply shrugged it away. His grin was bubbly and carefree.  
“I’ll be fine.” He said, and finished off his newest drink. He made a noise of pleasure before thudding the glass down, and he licked his lips slowly. It was difficulty for Michael not to stare, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from doing something foolish.

Gavin, however, had no such filter, and he huffed out a heavy sigh before he moved to lounge on Michael even heavier than before. He turned his head before Michael could react and planted his face into the crook of his neck, humming happily. Michael froze.

“I like you, Michael.” Gavin spoke, his voice a low purr, and his guts felt like they were bathed in ice water. For a split second, he was furious. He was convinced that Gavin was faking it, he was playing it up just to try and get close to him. Just to piss him off. But not even Gavin Free would be that moronic, would he?

Michael laughed uncertainly, and pushed him off his shoulder. “I like you too, Gavin.” He told him, and the older man beamed, and called for another drink.

The night crawled by far too slowly for Michael’s liking, and by eleven thirty pm and god knows how many weird noises for Gavin later, Michael had had enough.

“I think that’s it for you.” Michael told him, and he plucked the glass out of Gavin’s hand and set it across on the other side of the table, where he couldn’t reach. Gavin looked at him as if Michael had slapped then stabbed his mother right in front of his eyes.

“But Michael!” He whined, and his accent is amplified by what seems like a thousand. It grated on Michael’s ears.

“But nothing.” He told him, and he marvelled at how much he sounded like his own mother. “I’m taking you home.” He heard Geoff openly guffaw at them, but he went ignored.  
“I’ll make sure his roommate gets him up for tomorrow.” Ray promised, taking a sip around his smirk as he watched Gavin stumble to his feet. “Dan knows some good hangover recipes. He’s been shit faced enough times.”

“Thanks.” Michael said thankfully, nearing the end of his tether. He grabbed for Gavin’s twig like wrists and grappled with him, trying to guide him where he wanted him to go. It was like trying to control a self aware video game character when the tutorials were written in a long dead tongue. Gavin tried to go everywhere but where Michael wanted him to go, making ridiculous little noises under his breath. Michael found it incredibly difficult to believe that this was the exact same man who had mastered Shakespeare.

It was a struggle to get Gavin out the door, and Michael found himself sympathising for Ray, who was always forced to be the designated driver. With a grimace, he hauled the actor outside, and prayed that no one would recognise him. He certainly wouldn’t have been able to deal with that.

Gavin, however, decided to make his life much more difficult than it needed to be. In his intoxicated state, he thought it was perfectly agreeable to reach around and curl his arm around Michael’s waist. He tugged him close, and nuzzled into his neck again, taking a deep breath. It was still cold outside, even though the rain had thankfully ceased, and Gavin felt like a furnace.

Michael considered pushing him off, but he knew it was a battle he’d quickly lose. He allowed the actor to stay sprawled against him, but he grabbed his shoulder and shook him gently, albeit firmly. He fished his phone out of his pocket with one hand. “Hey, I’m getting a cab. Where do you live?”

Gavin pulled away from him for a moment, blinking owlishly up at him. He narrowed his eyes, and Michael had a sinking feeling in chest. But then Gavin lit up.

“Right!” He told him where he lived- Michael had never heard of it- and so he quickly called a cab. It was incredibly difficult to make the call while Gavin was pawing at him, tugging at his shirt and giggling to himself, but Michael prided himself on the fact he didn’t snap and start hurling abuse at him. The car pulled up just under ten minutes later and Michael was infinitely glad to see it.

He opened the door and Gavin crawled inside first, and lounged against the window. Michael climbed in after him, and flashed an apologetic smile at the unhappy looking driver. “Sorry about him.”

He relayed Gavin’s address to him, and they were quickly on their way. Michael did up his seat belt quickly, and began fussing with Gavin’s when the actor made no attempt to do it himself- but instead, the man shifted towards him and lay half on his lap, piling onto him and planting his face into Michael’s stomach.

Growing used to his antics, Michael simply grumbled “For god’s sake, Gavin.” but when the dark haired man made no attempt to move, he gave up.

The actor prattled on about something for the entire drive, something about dogs or the weather or the creation of Molotov’s. Neither the driver or Michael were listening, and nor did they care. The sober passenger stared out of the window, watching houses and cars flash by. The houses get nicer and bigger as they drive further, and Michael snorts to himself. Of course Gavin lives in a nice and rich neighbourhood. He ignores the feeling of Gavin’s hand tracing tiny patterns into the area just above his knee, and he definitely doesn’t notice how slim Gavin is, with slim, girlish hips and legs that seemed to go on for miles. He fixates his eyes on a tiny crack in the window, and stares at it like it personally wronged him until the drive is finished, and they pull up outside Gavin’s house.

Gavin’s home was lit up like a Christmas tree, golden light streaming from every single window, and Michael wasn’t sure whether to be glad that his roommate was obviously indoors or worried that Gavin had gotten the address wrong. It didn’t really look like a place Gavin would live- it seemed far too well kept. The windows were clean, and nothing seemed to be broken. The grass had been mowed, recently by the look of it, and the bins were lined up perfectly along the side of the house. There were empty crates of beer resting beside them, and Michael quickly rectified his judgement- Gavin definitely lived here.

“Wait here, please.” Michael requested, and the cab driver nodded, completely uninterested in their affairs. Gavin opened the door on his side, and clambered out. His legs quaked a little, like a newborn foals, and Michael hurriedly left the cab on his side to help him up across the pavement and up the path. Gavin’s front garden was neatly kept, but plain. All the other houses on the road had gardens crammed with huge bushes, vibrant and beautiful flowers- but not Gavin’s house.

Gavin found his way up the steps with some difficulty, his hands shoved in his coat pocket. It took him a while to find his keys, and Michael waited for him to get inside.  
But the actor stared down at his keys, fumbling with them uselessly-before looking up at his companion. “Michael.” He said, and there was a soft, dreamy and distant smile on his face. Michael grunted in response.

“Yeah?” He asked, somewhat disgruntled. “What do you want?”

Gavin’s simper dwindled, like a candle running out of wax, and the relaxed air became heavy. Michael tensed at the evolution, watching Gavin change before him. The older man sucked in a breath, still wavering a little, before he spoke.

“I don’t know that much about you, but I really, really like you, Michael.” He told him, his voice low, and it sounded heavier and much more serious than Michael was comfortable with.

There was a long, pregnant pause. The only sound was the noise of cars cruising by in the night, and the sound of the taxi still running behind them.

“I know.” Michael eventually replied uselessly, keeping his voice as even as possible before he turned away and quickly got back in the taxi. The driver glanced at him as he slammed the door shut, and Michael rested his face in the palm of his hand. “Go ahead.” He gestured toward the road blindly, and the cab pulled away from the curb and drove. He didn’t look back to see if Gavin had safely entered his apartment or not.

There were a lot of things that Michael knew, but most of them don’t make a lick of sense.

x-x-x-x-x

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Michael yelped as the hailstones hammered down around him, bouncing off his head and cheeks painfully. They were only small things, a bit smaller than the nail on his little finger, but they hit hard. They pattered off the floor, pelting onto the buildings and the pavement, and Michael ran for the theatre, now only across the road.  
He dove under it’s protection and yanked off his beanie, brushing off the tiny little pellets. Some had melted already, but others still remained. He placed it back on his head, making sure it was perfect before he pulled out his phone and checked the time. He was early. He wasn’t anticipating fleeing for his life down the streets, and he had arrived a good fifteen minutes early.

Michael shrugged, putting it away, and made sure his beanie was in place one more time before trying one of the doors. It opened easily, and he shoved through the theatre’s rather gaudy bronze double doors. The first thing that he noticed was that it was quiet. The only noise he could hear was the hailstones still falling outside, smacking against the roof and windows. It was worryingly, bizarrely, unusually quiet. At risk of sounding like some clichéd ass, it was too quiet.

Michael encountered no one as he made his way up to the lighting booth- not even janitors, who usually crawled around the place like spiders. Most of the lights were still off, and he was forced to grope his way through the darkness, finding them and switching them on as he went. The silence filled him with a kind of dread and deep apprehension. He half expected to see a distant, flickering light, illuminating a blood splatter on the wall, maybe with ‘help me’ messily smeared on it.

He reached the stairs to the lighting and sound booths after a long moment of disorientation. He could see that up there, the lights were on, acting as some kind of Holy Grail for him. He made his way up as fast he could, taking the steps two at a time. He felt like a kid again, a little boy fleeing to the warmth and security of his bedroom, scared of the uncertain darkness snapping at his heels.

He reached the door with the soft light leaking from underneath it, and carefully and quietly twisted the doorknob, pushing it open.

He expected to see Ray, fucking around with the lights. He didn’t.

Instead, Gavin was perched on Michael’s seat, his impossibly long legs brought up to his chest. He balanced his chin on his knees and had one arm wrapped around his legs. He entertained himself while he waited, for what, Michael didn‘t know; although he wobbled precariously, he didn’t notice as one hand toyed with the switches on the panel. An icy blue light danced alone on the stage, swirling and shifting in the almost pitch black darkness. He had a tiny smile on his face, as easily entertained as a toddler, but he looked an utter mess. His hair wasn’t mussed in that careless but careful fashion- it looked like a bird’s nest. The already black rings around his eyes, a souvenir left by exhaustion, had only grown and deepened, and the man’s eyelids were heavy. His clothes were mussed, appearing as if they were grabbed from the floor and hurriedly tugged on. His posture was frankly awful, in contrast to the confident but casual way he usually appeared.

Michael stood in the doorway and watched as the man-child played around, testing the buttons and flicking switches. The light show continued on the stage below, all golden hues, greens the colour of Gavin’s own eyes and brilliant crimsons. He wondered what caused Gavin’s sordid appearance- and wondered whether it was purely his hangover- which was bound to be killer- or maybe something else.

In any case, Michael stepped into the room and slammed the floor behind him, as loudly as he could. “That isn’t a toy.” He snapped, breaking the silence alongside the door.  
Gavin squawked, remarkably like a parrot and recoiled, jumping out of Michael’s seat. He lost his balance, and the light director admittedly did wince in sympathy when the actor crashed to the floor. The chair fell alongside him and smacked, falling heavily into his leg. The man squirmed, trying to find his feet again. He did- and he jumped to his feet almost immediately, like a soldier snapping to attention. His eyes were wide already- but they only grew bigger when he spotted Michael.

The actor damn well breathed his name in that aggravating fashion, in that bullshit accent, and it sounded like a goddamn prayer. “You’re early.” He seemed surprisingly in control. If Michael had drunk as much as he had, he wouldn’t have come into work. Despite everything, he respected Gavin’s resilience and determination, and he wondered exactly what kind of miracle hangover cure his roommate used, and whether it was witchcraft.

“Well, some of us have work to do. Which is why I didn’t get smashed last night.” Michael snapped, and he dumped his bag on the floor, near Gavin’s feet. It thumped on the floor heavily, and the actor flinched away. He had noticeably recoiled at Michael’s reminder of the night before, and his expression had twisted with hurt and regret.

“About that…” He starts, and he gnaws on his lower lip. He leaves it broken and bleeding a little when he begins. “I wanted to apologize.” He lowered his head, gazing at the floor, clearly regretful, and Michael crossed his arms across his chest.

“Good. I think I deserve one.” His scowl had disappeared, only to be replaced by a wry smile, and his tone was dry. To Gavin, it was just as intimidating as the scowl.

He hung his head. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry about everything that happened last night. I’m sure I made you uncomfortable.”

Uncomfortable?

Michael’s sure posture flagged a little, and his quirked his head to one side, just like Gavin would have. He wracked his brain for meaning, failed to settle on a conclusion. He mused on the touching and the ‘I like you’- but Michael was confident that it was all a joke. “I’m not sure what you mean?”

The actor swallowed heavily, and talking seemed to be an almighty struggle for him. “You know.” He stressed, awkwardly. “I was flirting with you. Getting close, being all touchy feely, stuff like that.”

Oh.

Michael desperately wanted something to do. He felt useless and idiotic, standing around while Gavin was opening his heart and apologizing to him. And something unrecognisable, some pathetic emotion was bubbling up in his stomach, churning and mixing like a potion in the witches cauldron. His knees began to feel weak. Some ailment made his head spin. And all of a sudden, he was breathless.

He had convinced himself it was all a joke. Gavin was just toying with him, testing his limits like the irritating little shit he was. But he wasn’t.

Gavin Free was flirting with him. With Michael Jones.

And, being completely unable to deal with positive emotion, Michael responds distantly. On the outside he chalks it up to being a man, but deep down, he recognises it as a more personal failure.

“That was you flirting?” Michael tried to say, and stiffly and tersely as he could. He tried to sound distant and uninterested, but he was almost positive by the expression of Gavin’s face that he had failed spectacularly. The burning heat of embarrassment climbed up from the collar of his shirt as Gavin watched him.

“Yeah.” He replied, somewhat uneasily. “I’m pretty pants at it, right?” He tried to joke, but he was clearly agonizingly unsure of himself.

“Well.“ Michael kicked the floor with one two, scuffing the surface with his converses. Past marks were evidence of how many times he had kicked at the floor beforehand. “I wouldn’t say that.” He shrugged dismissively. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I should worry about it.” Gavin argued, lifting his head and serving Michael with a hard glare. “I shouldn’t have done it. I ruined your night. And I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t ruin my night.” Michael replied quickly, his words almost slurring together in the speed he said them. The lines between reality and clichéd romantic drama were quickly becoming blurred, but he found that right now, he didn’t really care.

Gavin stared at him hesitantly, his eyes imploring. “I didn’t?”

“Nah.” Michael gave what he hoped was a quirked grin. “You should have seen some of the other nights I’ve had with Geoff.” Gavin snorted at the thought, likely imagining the carnage.

“So you didn’t mind me flirting with you?” The actor checks tentatively. Michael misses a beat, and there’s a moment of shared uncertainly and faint terror between them.  
He knew what he wanted to say, and he sucked in a deep breath before he did it. He prepared for the painful silence and the potential sting of rejection. The words he carefully strung together stick in his throat, and he had to swallow around the lump before he managed to get them out. “I think I kind of liked it, actually.”

Gavin paused, his expression temporarily touched with wonder. “Right,” He spoke, slowly, and he just stared at Michael. Stared. The intensity of it was overpowering, and Michael felt small. “Right.” He repeated. “I thought I was making a fool of myself.”

“Well, you kind of were.” He agreed easily, but he smiled to let him know he was forgiven.

Gavin hummed a little, his eyes still locked on his. His hand, resting on the panel, caressed a tiny circle thoughtlessly. Painfully unsure, Michael simply huffed back softly, and the stifling silence fell over them. Nothing happened for several agonizing seconds, and Michael found himself praying that Ray would waltz in, perhaps gossiping unknowingly, and disrupt the awkward silence- but then Gavin stepped forward, lifting his hand and threading it in the hairs on the back of Michael’s head. They tickled lightly against his long fingers, and he noted how soft they were.

Michael froze, but never flinched away. Gavin took this as a good sign and smiled, a small chuckle breaking free of his lips before he boldly leant forward and pressed a tiny, chaste kiss to the corner of Michael’s mouth.

He drew back immediately, and surveyed him through slightly squinted eyes. He hunted for a reaction, and found none. “Was… was that okay?” His voice wavered with uncertainty.

Michael found himself blinking dumbly, and although he knew what he wanted to say, his mouth was moving uselessly as if his vocal chords had been removed. He had to stop, recover and clear his throat carefully before he could talk. “Yeah.” He nodded, his voice a pitch or two higher than before. His mouth tingled and almost burnt, as if Gavin’s lips were coated in acid. “Yeah, that was good.”

A tentative smile appeared on Gavin’s face, and Michael couldn’t help but return it. He imagined they looked like love struck teens in a summer romance, and he was vehemently glad that no one was there to see them. “Good.” He murmured, and then, as an afterthought, “Well, magnificent, really.”

Michael felt the hand slip away from the back of his head, the reassuring and comforting weight disappearing. He let out a whine, his eyebrows narrowing- and he was about to lunge forward to snatch a real kiss, a proper kiss, one that would wipe that shy little smile from the actor’s face.

But Gavin tensed up abruptly, and his now dark eyes flickered to rest over Michael’s shoulder. He took a step back, slowly and casually, and forced that goofy grin on his face one more time.

“Ray!” He beamed, and Michael pivoted. Ray closed the door carefully behind him, and turned to peer at them through his glasses. For a moment, Michael was convinced he could see Joel flash past the window set in the door- but he didn’t ask, and let the couple have their secrets.

“You’re early.” Was Ray’s opening line, and Michael is only half sure he’s imagining the suspicion in his tone and the way he seemed to stare at his lips. “That’s new.”

“I ran because of the weather.” He excused, and both Gavin and Ray make a noise of understanding and sympathy. Ray dropped his bag heavily on the floor, next to Michael’s, and immediately began ranting about Austin’s weather. The two listened politely for a while, often shooting each other amused looks when Ray used a particularly colourful or inventive curse.

“Well, I better be off.” Gavin eventually spoke up, moving towards the door. “Gotta get into the old costume.” He reaches over and pats at Ray’s shoulder, muttering a private goodbye- and he turns and gives Michael a look, something intense and surprisingly intimate. Then the seriousness of the moment promptly evaporates when he winks, and disappears through the door.

x-x-x-x-x

As it turned out, Gavin was still a phenomenal actor even while hung over. Michael wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or exasperated.

There was a noticeable pause in his soliloquy, though, and his speeches were a lot less fluid than they used to be. His pauses were likely moments where Gavin was struggling to recall his lines, but most times he managed to play it off as a dramatic pause. In his soliloquy, he was very quiet, and his features were tight and drawn with apprehension.

“Is this…” His voice was hushed in the silence. “Is this a dagger which I see before me? The handle before my hand…” His long fingers toyed as if absentmindedly with a prop, a key in his hands. His eyes were focused on an invisible spot in the air, where Macbeth imagined the dagger lies. His lips were curled into a small grin. “Come, let me clutch thee.” He reached forward, his movements quick and sure- but his hand phases through nothing, only empty air against his fingers. His grin faded, and his hand slowly searched for the weapon he cannot touch, only imagine. He groped for it, again and again, and he only laughed, his new replenished smile uncertain. “I have thee not.” A beat. “Yet I see thee still.”

Ray suddenly chortled, and Michael shot him a curious glance. “Joel drank roughly as much as Gavin did. I can’t wait to see if he can actually string a sentence together.0  
”  
As it turns out, he could, and very well. He stumbled a little, but he didn’t grind out every word like it physically pained him. Which was a plus, they both decide. “It’s probably practise.” Ray speculated, and Michael grunts in agreement. But he didn’t focus much on Joel. Throughout the performance, he kept his eyes locked on Gavin, and he finally let himself appreciate the man’s obvious talent. He let himself sink wholly into the play, watching Macbeth’s slow decent into madness and his insatiable lust for power driving him to murder innocents. He listened to the way Gavin’s voice went from weak and wavering, to clear and commanding, and how he stood tall and bold, confident and powerful. He watched the grins, the scowls, the grimaces, the sneers.

Joel took off Gavin’s head for his character’s crimes, and for the first time, Michael felt a little morose about the whole situation. And by the end, he supposed Shakespeare wasn’t so bad after all.

But he still thought that Gavin was a pretentious dick, and no one will ever convince him otherwise.

x-x-x-x-x

It was a week later, and Gavin and Michael hadn’t spoken privately since.

He saw Gavin around fairly regularly, sometimes palling around with Joel or Geoff, practising with Barbara, or chatting to fans outside after the show. Whenever they saw each other, this smile would stretch on Gavin’s lips, and it would make his knees weak and his stomach would bubble with satisfaction or happiness. Joel and Geoff were oblivious, either distracted or drunk, but Barbara always saw, and she always laughed.

Michael sometimes wondered if Gavin would come up to see him after a show- not sweep him off his feet or anything, God, no. But maybe he would come up to visit him, sit with him for a while and be an annoying prick as always. Michael would have pretended to hate every second of it, yelling at him and demanding he leave him alone, but that was just his way. But Gavin doesn’t come up, and whenever Michael treks outside with Ray he always finds him with the fans- lifting up the happily shrieking little boy of a beaming couple, signing and talking animatedly with a man his age, and even on time he’s signing for the fan in the booth. Although they haven’t had time to talk and sort out exactly what was going on between them, Michael wasn’t mad. He enjoyed the space, he liked watching Gavin interact with the others.

He just liked Gavin, and according to the sweet smiles he received, Gavin liked him too.

The next day was a Friday, thank God, and Ray was telling him all about his plan for the weekend he had taken off- apparently, his old friend from another state was coming into town, and they were going to spend the entire weekend mostly playing video games, ordering takeaways and getting drunk.

“Isn’t that what you do every weekend?” Michael had asked, frowning, but Ray simply tutted at him.

“You’re just jealous because I can play games better drunk than you can sober.” He shot back, and the two laughed together- and Michael ignored the fact he was right. As they shut everything down and packed up, Michael was unaware of scuffling outside the door, and raised but still faint voices- but he was perfectly aware of the door creaking open, and a familiar body stepping through it.

Gavin stood in the doorway, and the sight of him brought back every memory and feeling in one glorious rush of colour and sound- the irritation he felt whenever the actor grinned, the stupid way he acted when drunk, and most importantly, the way his lips tingled when he kissed him.

Michael’s words slowly faded out, and his conversation with Ray died.

“So, I’m a knob.” Is what Gavin decided to open with, and Michael couldn’t help but laugh. He watched hope spark into Gavin’s vibrant eyes, and that stupid grin that made his heart stutter and skip. He didn’t feel particularly manly in that moment and he later cursed himself for being so lame, but for now, he didn’t give a damn.

“You’re the worst kind of person.” He agreed, barely noticing as Ray rose out of his chair slipped silently out of the room. He didn’t come back.

Gavin nodded eagerly in agreement, pleased that Michael was going along with his little act. He looked towards the door, seeing it swing shut, and dropped his voice to a stage whisper. “I didn’t have the balls to do this a week ago. And the only reason I’m doing it is because Ray and Joel both threatened to beat me up.” He pouted playfully, and his voice returned to it’s usual volume. He stepped over to take Ray’s seat. For a second, he was distracted by the way it spun, but he quickly came back to reality. “I think I should make that up to you.”

Michael pressed his lips together and grinned, a laugh almost bursting free. He lifted his leg, nudging his knee. “I think you definitely should. You hurt my feelings.”

“Well… wanna go get a bev afterwards?” Gavin’s eyes gleamed, as if with some private joke or plan he didn’t particularly feel like sharing. “We can talk about all the horrible things I’ve done.”

Michael was about to agree, maybe roll his eyes and say ’finally’ when he felt the familiar sensation of burning on the back of his neck. He swivelled his head around, and found Free’s fan still in his seat, not even bothering to slyly watch them or disguise his reaction. He stared at them, his face flushed. He looked perturbed, bewildered, startled, unnerved- and a touch jealous.

His gut reaction was to feel satisfied, almost obnoxiously so- but he was Michael Jones. He was a hard-headed, tough son of a bitch- not a repressed, malleable, love struck kid.  
And he had a reputation to uphold.

“Yes!” He yelled as loudly as he could, and he grabbed for an empty bottle of coke that lay at his feet and lobbed it at him. Gavin made a strange noise, somewhere between a yelp and a squeal, and ducked, covering his head with his arms. “I’ll get a fucking drink with you, now get out!”

He expected Gavin to be as confused as fuck, and expected that he would need to explain exactly what the hell he was doing at their date- if Gavin didn’t automatically assume it was cancelled, or heaven forbid, cancel it himself- but Michael was pleasantly surprised by the laughter that flowed from the actor’s mouth. He uncovered his head and he was giggling ecstatically, his eyes filled with glee.

“I get off at nine thirty!” Gavin called over to him, already groping for the door handle. He pulled it open upon finding it, and ducked behind it, hiding from Michael’s disgruntled wrath.

“I know what time the fucking play finishes, asshole, I’m doing the light for it! Now for God’s sake get out!” There’s nothing else to throw, to his chagrin. But then Gavin had the nerve to blow him a kiss and promptly flee, and Michael, ever volatile, saw red.

“Gavin!” He howled after him, and he burst out of the room and chased the actor down the hallway.

Once the show was done and after Gavin had eventually convinced Michael to let him take him out to dinner instead of a drink, the actor cupped his cheek in one hand and leant in to whisper “Shall I compare thee to a summers day?”- and then jumped back and exploded into hysterical giggles as a fist was firmly introduced to his shoulder.

“Fuck you.” Michael glowered, but he couldn’t hold back his own genuine laughter, and he didn’t give a damn that people stared as they held hands over the table.


End file.
